


Nolevorution, Of Course!

by Ewok_Poet



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: Corellian Trilogy - Roger MacBride Allen
Genre: Absurd, Censorship, Dictators, Dictatorship, Gen, Government, Kafkaesque, Sacorria, Sacorrian Triad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-03
Updated: 2016-01-03
Packaged: 2018-05-11 09:50:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,549
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5623060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ewok_Poet/pseuds/Ewok_Poet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A government official on the strict and insular Core World planet of Sacorria has to notify the Triad of what CESA (Censorship, Education & Scholarship Agency) considers to be a threat to the planet's progress and unity. With hilarious results. The story takes place sometime in 2 ABE / 6 ABY.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nolevorution, Of Course!

_**Dorthus Tal City, Sacorria, early autumn of 6 ABY**_  
  
Just like the Triad Mountain peeking from above the clouds behind the Corelle province’s jewel-town of Sublata, just like the vine and flower-covered buildings of the Northern district of the megalopolis Sacorrata made the mostly-rural Berrsia a bit more urban, the mysterious Watchtower Base was one of the landmarks of the Sacorrian province of Racottia.  
  
So many myths, so many legends, so many true stories lingered on about this place; to the point where it became impossible to tell what was what. Somebody had once said that the volcano providing the whole island with geothermal energy was a government ploy. There were beings who believed that, from the Watchtower Base itself, one was allowed to take out a telescope and look at the moon. In the end, some even claimed how the moon was fake and projected from the top of the volcano. _The fact that most had been to the said moon was irrelevant._  
  
Dalyn R. Baobab, the famed wailer from Manda, had once written a song about the Watchtower Base. Needless to say, that made him unwelcome on Sacorria for the next five years, and, once the ban was lifted, he was still not allowed to set foot in Dorthus Tal City, or even on the river of Groda, separating Racottia and Berrsia.  
  
What everybody, from quacks and fortune tellers to outworlder apparatchiks and underground anti-establishment activists – who, by the way, totally didn’t exist – failed to figure out was a case of hiding in plain sight. The spherical structure on the top of the Watchtower Base was a secret bunker where Their Leaderships, the Sacorrian Triad, held their meetings. This bunker was safer than those two unfortunate Death Stars. If the Galactic Empire had ever taken the Sacorrian Triad seriously, they would never have lost the war. Not that the Sacorrian Triad didn’t end up aligning itself with the winning side, the Alliance to Restore the Republic, but in theory...  
  
If something happened to the planet, the bunker would survive. If the twenty-five millennia of Progress and Unity promoted by the Triad came to an end, the bunker was programmed to detach from the Base, reveal its true form of a luxury starcruiser and fly to whichever place supported the Sacorrian regime at the given moment. If the planet somehow managed to get sucked into the supermassive black hole in the centre of the Galaxy, the bunker-spaceship was programmed to get all the possible energy from the volcano and enter hyperspace before one could even say “Saygo”.  
  
What went on inside of the bunker was secret.  
  
The protocol droids serving Their Leaderships were programmed to wipe their own memory every night and assume themselves reborn in the name of the Triad every morning. Mere comrades and comradettes were allowed to enter the bunker only if they were working in the Square Building, for one of the government’s agencies or ministries, and they needed a very, very good reason for doing such a thing.  
  
Either way, it was a rare occurrence.  
  
But this evening, a man in a Doltshe of Ghaban suit with pressed dress pants and an overcoat, appeared at the end of the transport tunnel below the sea level and held his card up to the identification screen on the turbolift doors. They were so accident-proof that they looked like blast doors.  
  
“Identify yourself, comrade or comradette.” The synthetic voice addressed the intruder.  
  
“Of course!” The Human male took a card adapter from a pocket located inside of his expensive tie, pulled the card out of the slot, stuck it into the adapter and pressed it against the identification slot again.  
  
“19-F16E-64.”  
  
“Yes, that’s me.” The man nodded and grinned. “I am here to see Their Leaderships. I have approval from the Censorship and Education Supervision Agency.”  
  
“Wait, please. Buy Saygo! Please, wait.”  
  
The man was sure that the absolutely-anything-proof system had just jammed there for a second. Then again, perhaps he really did need his fourth Saygo.  
  
“Climb the stairs!” the synthetic voice spoke again.  
  
“But…stairs are for going down, turbolifts are for going up, of course!”  
  
“Do not question the doctrine of Their Leaderships. Climb the stairs.”  
  
The well-dressed visitor shrugged, and grinned again. Another door, this one definitely of the blast kind, opened and he was now standing before a spiral durasteel staircase. He looked up and bit his tongue, because whatever he had wanted to say was not very progressive. Luckily, he was still in good condition, being a former athlete. He started counting the steps and, when he got to 1000, he realised that he had picked up a habit from his long-term rival and workmate. Once again, he had a strange urge to utter something unprogressive, but again, he bit his tongue.  
  
As he was climbing the stairs, the scent of his DKNJ cologne lingered on, to the point where the probe droids following him wondered for a moment if he was a living toxic bomb. Then again, probe droids, they never understood fashion.  
  
…  
  
Their Leaderships were sitting at a gigantic, rounded wooden table with over twenty-five millennia of the planet’s history carved upon it. The Selonian female seemed to be a bit fidgety compared to the other two, and her Drall comradette caught her scratching a particular detail of the intaglio with her long claws.  
  
“Again, Eriis?” the dark-furred rodent asked.  
  
“Do you have a problem with that, Roula?”  
  
The Drall smirked and resorted to playing with the white gem on her inappropriately large ring. A couple of minutes later, she had a response.  
  
“Actually, I don’t. Reshaping history, in whatever way, is a progressive thing to do. Even when one is scratching her way to a tomorrow of further indoctrination.”  
  
Somebody clapped behind Roula and Eriis. They both turned around. A figure slightly taller than the Drall and slightly shorter than the Selonian, with no hair other than an annoyingly perfect moustache resembling a pair of horns and reddish-brown eyebrows, was standing there, holding three grey boxes.  
  
“Yvar? Are you forgetting that women are in charge here, regardless what is going on inside of your silly Human head? There are two of us and only one of you.”  
  
Yvar Trindello, the Human member of the Triad, did not like Roula’s attitude. Despite how small she was, sometimes he felt that she had more bitterness in her than the whole batch of grain fly-infected dust corn.  
  
“Charge-schmarge! Mind you, a system in the Outer Rim was named after my family! What did the Pelayn clan do for the Galaxy?”  
  
“Got rid of our biggest rivals and brought stability back to the Prospects. That whole ploy…”  
  
“Oh…yes…right. That was incredibly progressive. So, either way, somebody is coming. He says that he has an emergency. I messed with him a bit; I am pretty sure he thinks that a computer just told him to get another landcar.”  
  
Roula and Eriis both cackled and the latter patted Yvar on his shoulder.  
  
“Now he’s climbing the stairs, right? If this is one of the former athletes we had managed to convince to work for the Government agencies, I guess he’ll be quicker than an average comrade. Let’s hurry!”  
  
…  
  
Twenty-three minutes and forty-six seconds later Joak Bluestar Shykrill Glisse, known to limmie fans around the Galaxy under the nickname Code:Blue, entered the interrogation room. Just as the doors closed behind him, three figures in red coats, wearing glareshades, materialised on the holoprojector before him.  
  
“By Progress and Unity, I salute Your Leadeships…of course!” he barely managed to utter the words he was supposed to, according to the protocol. But, to his surprise, before any of them said anything to that, they did the “baby burp” choreography.  
  
And there he was, biting his tongue for the third time that evening. Maybe it was high time he stopped reacting to this. Maybe.  
  
The smallest figure extended a thick, short finger towards him and spoke, once again in synthetic voice.  
  
“So, you’re coming on behalf of CESA? The last time CESA sent somebody here, they were a fake spy.”  
  
“I am sorry, your Drallship. I was not involved in..”  
  
“We know.” The tallest being cut the visitor short. “A progressive individual who wore a red shirt in school should never explain himself, though.”  
  
Code:Blue was about to say that he was an orange shirt, but he realised that it was not in his best interest. The two furry beings seemed to have more authority than his species’ representative in the Triad. And they were, of course, females. He regretted not having brought each of them a bouquet of the famed Sacorrian irises straight from Curheg. He swallowed a lump and continued.  
  
“I know, time is indirectly proportional to progress. Therefore, what is going on…of course…what is going on Noleria at this very moment could be a prelude to uprising.”  
  
All three beings stepped ahead.  
  
“Repeat, please.”  
  
“What is going on Noleria, could be, of course, a prelude to uprising.”  
  
Yvar raised his eyebrow, having realised that this minion did not say “of course” again. But did that mean that he was more or less obedient than usual?  
  
“Here is the datacard with the report. I can, of course, read it out loud to you.”  
  
“No, you cannot.” The tallest figure was almost laughing at this point. “There is no computer in this room, and you didn’t bring a datapad with you.”  
  
“I can tell you all the details, Your Leaderships. Basically, they have been shooting from their blasters, up to the air, as if they wanted to get rid of all the stars in the sky, and, of course, Sacorria and Sarcophagus themselves! They also seem to be incredibly intoxicated. What is worrying is that they’re carrying flags and engaging in debauchery. Such behavior must…must be sanctioned, of course!”  
  
Silence.  
  
The three beings were not saying a word at first. And then, they bursted into laughter. Despite the fact that he was only sharing the room with a hologram, the man stepped back and dropped to his knees in fear of what was to come. Why were they laughing? What had he gotten wrong?  
  
“Comrade Glisse?” The being whom Code:Blue assumed was Human addressed him. “Who in their sane mind, would think that this was a revolution? Why did…”  
  
The shortest figure interrupted the furless one. “They are celebrating Nolerday, the day we founded the first colony on the planet seven centuries ago!”  
  
“W-what? Of course, of course, of course!”  
  
He knew of this holiday. He and his wife, Dani, together with their three children, had once been present on Noleria for Nolerday. How could he have forgotten about it? Why had he believed Code:Red and the rest of the CESA board when they came up with this off-the-wall theory? Why? Was it because a true Sacorrian just had to be suspicious?  
  
The three figures seemed more threatening than ever. The hairless one was now holding a datapad, the tall one walking around and, at some point, the short one spoke again.  
  
“As a matter of a fact, Glisse, we have a new task for you.”  
  
Code:Blue swallowed a lump. His last name was not well-known, to the point where people would use it only when he was in trouble. Whatever was to come, must have been the end of his days on the planet and an one-way-ticket to its moon, Sarcophagus.  
  
“Please, do not send me to the Dorthus Tal prison!” He cried. “I have a family and a lot of Endorian chickens in the yard of my villa!”  
  
The hologram disappeared for a moment.  
  
“W-what?” Roula cocked her head and looked to Eriis, who just shrugged. “Did he just say he has chickens in his villa?”  
  
Yvar was searching something on his datapad and joined the conversation about a minute later. “His top-secret file says that he has something called a ‘blasé tree goat’ as well. I do not dare ask what it is, but…it sounds like it defecates from trees on visiting beings. Not convenient.”  
  
Roula tried not to snicker again. She had to explain Glisse’s task to him.  
  
“GR-R will bring an item for you to investigate in about a minute. Please, stand by.”  
  
Fifty-nine seconds later – because one had to be agile – a musteline protocol droid brought a box and immediately left the interrogation room. Code:Blue opened the box.  
  
The item inside confused him more than he would’ve ever admitted. It was a toy quadduck. The former limmie player sniffed the air and looked around, fearing that he was in a gas chamber and that this was a trap.  
  
“A quadduck, of course…the favourite bath time toy of younglings all over the Galaxy…but why?”  
  
“You are to examine if this is a dangerous item in any way.”  
  
Were they kidding him at this point? He was no longer able to swallow lumps; his mouth was almost completely dry.  
  
“Of course, but why…?”  
  
“We have just learned that a person born on this planet is involved with an offworlder. That cannot be a good sign, comrade Glisse, do you agree?”  
  
By now, Code:Blue was twiddling his thumbs. He had no words to say other than “of course”, so he just muttered a barely-audible “m-hm” instead.  
  
“The said offworlder has an extremely shady past. We are concerned that, even though the relationship might not last, something could happen to permanently damage Progress and Unity.  
  
“How old is the comrade in danger of counter-indoctrination and corruption?”  
  
“The Sacorrian comradette is barely out of her adolescence.” Yvar said. “The offworlder is much older. He may be involved in odd rituals of some Force sects. We searched through his apartment in Coronet City and this object seemed suspicious. Perhaps it’s a holocron. Perhaps it contains a coded, secret message. Either way, we are pretty sure that this individual is out to get us.”  
  
“I accept this task, Your Leaderships.”  
  
“Fine.” The tallest figure pointed to the doors. “You may now go and, regardless of what the rules say, you are free to use the turbolift on your way back.”  
  
“Really? Oh, thank you, Your Leaderships! Of course, I will.”  
  
Code:Blue turned around, took a couple of steps and then he remembered something and turned back again.  
  
“But…am I not breaking the rules you set if I do what you told me in person?”  
  
Too late. The hologram was gone. He ended up taking the stairs again, just in case this was a test. The probe droids were not in sight, their dark red eyes were not looming over him, but he was still thinking that it might be a trap. He was relieved when he got to the corridor again, forty-six minutes and twenty-three seconds later.  
  
But the Sacorrian Triad could not have cared less.  
  
Roula, Eriis and Yvar removed their glareshades and red coats. Their fancy dinner was about to be ready and they preferred eating at the bunker to a more relaxed evening at home. After all, one could never be too careful: maybe, just maybe, their spouses were out to stab them and make it look like one of their numerous servants poisoned them.  
  
_Of course._

**Author's Note:**

> Joak Bluestar Shykrill Glisse, aka Code:Blue is a character in one of my epics, The Black Star.
> 
> Noleria is the fourth planet of the Sacorrian system and I made it inhabitable for this occasion. Everything hinted about it is pure fanon.
> 
> Enjoy discovering all the meta-stuff I included in the story. If you discover it all, you win a thing. I dunno. I would like it if you discovered it.


End file.
